Breakthrough (The Red Gambit Series)

by Gee, Colin

  “Sem’ya-Two-Zero, Sem’ya-Two-Zero, this is Brat-Three-Krasnyi over.”

  The radio crackled with a response.

  Rechecking his map, Zvorykin looked at the scene in front of him and satisfied himself that he was calling it in correctly.

  “Sem’ya-Two-Zero, Sem’ya-Two-Zero, target koza, repeat target koza. Brat-Three-Krasnyi over.”

  The operator on the other end repeated the order and waited.

  Zvorykin waited too.

  The sound of approaching shells gained precedence over the other sounds of battle, and Zvorykin was rewarded with a grandstand view of a regimental artillery strike on a position one kilometre in length.

  “Sem’ya-Two-Zero, Sem’ya-Two-Zero. Confirm koza is on target. Brat-Three-Krasnyi over.”

  The exhausted Major relaxed with a cigarette as he watched the enemy anti-tank gunners destroyed by artillery fire of his making.

  Technically, it was all over, although there was still more dying to be done.

  The Canadians had been overrun and wiped out.

  ‘A’ Company had folded and surrendered, outnumbered and surrounded, Avensermoor knocked into a total ruin around them.

  Admin platoon had suffered a similar fate, although in less honourable circumstances, dropping their weapons and raising their hands without a fight, much to the disgust of the tough Soviet engineers who swept in for the spoils of war.

  Kommando Bucholz and the MG platoon of the Saskatoon’s had gone down fighting, inflicting hard losses on the 1195th Riflemen, and even knocking down a few of the engineers who moved tentatively down from Avensermoor.

  ‘D’ Company suffered few casualties, but there was no dishonour in their surrender. A ring of tanks and infantry formed round them, and artillery and mortars commenced to pound them long after day had become night.

  A wounded Canadian officer was brought forward, and he agreed to negotiate with the ‘D’ Company survivors to save further loss of life.

  Illuminated by a searchlight from the 1695th’s AA unit, the wounded man stumbled forward, clutching his white flag, until he reached ‘D’ Company’s positions.

  As Acting Major Roberts organised the surrender of ‘D’ Company, Yarishlov busied himself with inspecting the enemy headquarters.

  Arranging for the two dead bodies to be removed, he let his officers descend upon the wealth of intelligence found inside the holed tent.

  As usual, Kriks appeared magically with a hot drink, and he and his colonel watched on as the Canadian headquarters was picked clean by the locusts, sharing a particularly fine Cuban cigar in silence.

  Everstorfermoor was in ruins, no building untouched by the ravages of war. The civilian inhabitants had departed long before the battle commenced, so Everstorfermoor was also silent, save for the background sounds of fire consuming wood, and the occasional cacophony of brickwork crashing to the ground.

  The Russians, conscious of the light of burning buildings and allied air power in the night withdrew, leaving the small village with only its garrison of dead.

  Only lifeless eyes witnessed a cellar door slide cautiously open, and two shadowy figures move off into the night, their curious wooden gaits apparent in the flickering light of the flames.

  Be not afraid of greatness: some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them.

  William Shakespeare

  Chapter 61 – THE BRIEFINGS

  Tuesday, 14th August 1945, 0805 hrs, the Kremlin, Moscow, USSR.

  Both men sat drinking their tea in smug silence, the reports of success from the ground war almost universal. Some minor irritations of stubborn defence, but the spearheads were on the move and driving deep into the German heartland.

  Success indeed, but it was being bought at high cost in men and materiel, something the reports from Zhukov stated openly and something that they patently ignored, despite the continuing number of formations permanently lost from the order of battle.

  There were negatives, but neither man worried too much, such was the euphoria of the achievements to date. The Allied air forces had gained control of the night sky and, in truth, the day was a delicate balancing act of who could get what assets where and when but, in the main, the Soviet air force was holding its own during daylight hours.

  Again casualties were heavy, particularly on the Shturmoviks and light bomber regiments, but the Allies were suffering equally badly as the figures illustrated only too well.

  Beria and Stalin did not understand that some commanders were inflating the effectiveness of their missions, claiming more kills and more ground targets destroyed than were actually hit. The airman often exaggerates, and Beria had built in a compensation for that, but casualties amongst the Allied air fleet and ground forces were nowhere near as bad as was being suggested.

  The Atlantic war was a sideshow for both men but it was delivering surprisingly excellent results, with many enemy warships and transports sent to the bottom by the Elektrobootes of the Soviet Navy. Even the Pacific fleet had a notable success, one of its diesel-electric boats having sunk HMS Unicorn, a light aircraft carrier, sailing close inshore to Honshu, Japan.

  Serious dents had apparently been made in the US reinforcement stream coming into Europe, with major losses reading like a who’s who of important sea-going craft.

  The submarines off America had done particularly well, with some serious successes against oil tankers as well as troopships.

  A clandestine operation using a Swedish-flagged vessel was already underway, intending to visit each of the clandestine bases. The Trojan horse’s holds were stuffed full of torpedoes and the other necessary chattels of submarine warfare. More manpower too, divided into two groups. Mainly seaman, but also a few of the secretive and quiet types who served a more sinister purpose.

  The junior man broke the silence.

  “I believe the group in Madrid will be ready to act very soon, Comrade General Secretary. I have not yet given the preparation order. Should I give such an order?”

  Stalin, filling the bowl of his pipe with rough cut tobacco, paused and looked at the NKVD Chairman.

  “Is there some reason that I should not, Lavrentiy?”

  “We have guaranteed Spanish neutrality and yet they send men against us. None the less, they are few in number at this time.”

  Beria added a note of caution.

  “What is planned could incite their nation to greater efforts, Comrade General Secretary.”

  The dictator struck a match and pulled thoughtfully on the modest clay pipe. Beria continued.

  “Because of our links with old comrades in Spain, we can be assured of good information at all times, and I am sure that we can undermine Spanish unity.”

  The match burned down to Stalin’s fingers as he drew on his pipe, bringing a snarl as he discarded the end into the ash tray and licked his fingers gingerly, the heat of the flame still apparent on the tips.

  “It must be done, Lavrentiy.”

  The NKVD Chairman nodded. He had expected no other resolution, but had decided to cover himself just in case.

  “It shall be done, Comrade General Secretary.”

  Replacing his porcelain cup into the exquisitely decorated saucer, Beria decided to tackle a problem head on.

  “Things with the Germans have not gone as we had hoped, Comrade General Secretary.”

  Such a statement required clarification and Stalin’s unimpressed look drew him further.

  “My own and the GRU agents have done well and disrupted the formation of these German Republican units.”

  The glasses came off and the handkerchief commenced rapidly polishing.

  “It seems likely that they are about to put ten divisions at the disposal of the Capitalists.”

  Stalin’s eyes narrowed, and Beria understood he needed to sweeten this bitter pill as soon as possible.

  “We cannot assess the effectiveness of these units, but we do know that the Allies kept their prisoners of war und
er suitably harsh conditions, so it is likely they will be less effective than we have previously encountered.”

  Soviet Liaison officers had seen the hell holes of the Rheinweisenlager for themselves and reported back on the disgraceful conditions, conditions that met with the full approval to the Russians.

  “So what exactly did your agents achieve, Comrade?”

  Stalin had a unique capacity to speak normal words and have them fall upon other’s ears full of threat and venom.

  “Many German officers have been taken out of the equation by our agents, alleging war crimes, denouncing them as Nazis; there were even deaths from in-fighting. Anything which could spread disaffection and undermine their unity has been tried.”

  Replacing his glasses, the NKVD Chairman rallied.

  “Some of our men will have gone with these new units so their usefulness will be appreciated soon enough. Others will continue to spread disaffection amongst the German soldiery behind the lines.”

  The General Secretary puffed deeply on his pipe, filling the space between them with a thick fug.

  “I had expected more Lavrentiy, much more.”

  Beria’s smugness had now departed and he bought himself time by pouring more tea for both men. He decided to stand his ground.

  “As did I, Comrade General Secretary. However, we must not believe that operations are over. Far from it.”

  A gentle cough to clear his throat and steady himself, and the NKVD boss carried on.

  “Each agent is under orders to undermine relations between the German and Western Allied factions. We have yet to see this in action, as the German units were not yet formed. Each agent knows that Senior Allied commanders are to be eliminated where circumstances are favourable. We have yet to see this in action because the circumstances would not yet have existed. Each agent knows to sabotage but, yet again, they will not have been able to do so without the means and the freedom of operation. Obviously, betrayal of tactical plans and dispositions will happen when units reach the front line.”

  Surprisingly boosted by his defence, Beria concluded.

  “Comrade General Pekunin and I both agree that the effectiveness of our various agents will increase, and that results will only improve.”

  Stalin, not wholly comfortable with Beria’s robust approach, shifted in his seat and leant forward, planting both elbows on the solid tsarist desk.

  “Comrade Marshall, you and Pekunin assured me that you would disrupt the formation of any German units. And yet I now hear of ten divisions of their troops being made available to the Capitalists. That doesn’t sound like disruption to me; that sounds like failure.”

  This time the venom was very real, and the threat decidedly meant.

  “The pair of you had better come up with some results soon, or someone will be counting trees.”

  Even though Beria knew it was impossible for his boss to do such a thing to him, and more to the point, Stalin knew he couldn’t do such a thing to his Chief of NKVD, the threat was very real. Stalin could not move Beria, as the Marshall had certain files that would prove ‘embarrassing’ to the General Secretary. He knew where all the bodies were buried and, as he had assisted in Stalin’s intrigue’s and plotting throughout the Georgian’s rise, he was privy to all the dirt.

  What concerned him a lot was that, in the past, such people tended to disappear.

  Beria fully intended that, if it came to it, it would not be he but Pekunin who ended up in a Katorga being worked to death.

  Eisenhower had been up for some time. Technically he hadn’t been to bed, having fallen asleep in his comfy chair downstairs. His staff reduced their noise levels and let their boss sleep, knowing full well that the coming day would bring more pain and heartache.

  A generous breakfast of Belgian waffles with eggs and bacon fortified the body, whilst coffee and nicotine boosted the mind for the trials of the day.

  Ike knew that it would be a very difficult day indeed.

  Already he had cut orders to newly arrived or reformed units, sending them not to front but to rear-line positions, making them ready to hold, hold, and hold.

  His Generals were doing a magnificent job. Even Patton, hard-charging and impetuous, had his army in controlled retreat, hanging on to those either side and keeping the front line intact.

  Hamburg still held, or at least some of it. McCreery’s boys were working miracles in defence and, by all accounts, giving Ivan one hell of a bloody nose.

  And yet, a few miles from this excellence, a huge problem had arisen.

  The 1st Canadian Division had been sundered west of Luneburg Heath, permitting what looked like a whole Russian Army Corps to move through the North German Plain and bear down on Bremen.

  The Canadians, by dint of superhuman effort, threw in a counter-attack and halted one of the thrusts, that between Westerholz and Scheeßel, at the cost of half of their armour.

  Despite this, the Division was withdrawing again, but this time showing an unruptured front to the hard pressing enemy.

  Air had played their part too, inflicting casualties on the advancing tank columns and reducing the deficit in the balance of forces.

  None the less, McCreery’s front still looked the most stable, certainly compared to the horror’s being visited upon Bradley.

  The British General had sought and gained permission to use one of the German infantry units from Denmark and this was moving south to stiffen the line, freeing up other forces to bolster the Hamburg defence. It would be a close run thing.

  Having spent the night preparing, Guderian had assured Ike that the German Republican Army would commence its move towards the Ruhr at first light. Reports confirmed that to be true, with two divisions moving swiftly ahead of the rest to secure the area.

  This German commitment had allowed Eisenhower to free up resources, banishing his warring voices for the moment.

  Whilst the situation was still dire, there were occasional glimmers of light in the darkness of retreat.

  Although of limited use in the immediate, the promise of further support by Brazil was encouraging, as was the unexpected offer from Mexico to employ some of their divisions on security duties in the Caribbean, releasing more American units for the frontlines.

  The Spanish Division promised by Franco had yet to materialise, and General Grandes had been embarrassed to report that it probably would not cross the frontier for at least another seven days, possibly more. That obviously meant that the Spanish Corps would be delayed for a far greater time and Eisenhower forced it from his thinking.

  Again the British had come up trumps, finding that thousands of returning POW’s volunteered to go to the front again. This meant that many under strength infantry units received a trained influx, albeit of men who in many cases needed more meat on their bones after time in captivity. It was also enabling the British to form some new divisions that would be available in a relatively short time, again an extremely positive piece of news.

  The French too followed suit, although their men had been in captivity longer and were less aware of the rigours of modern combat. None the less, manpower was always welcome.

  Conspicuously absent was any talk of another force in preparation by the French, and Eisenhower, not officially knowing, could not ask on its progress or availability.

  His two selfs surfaced momentarily.

  ‘Now why is it we don’t argue about those suckers?’

  ‘Beats me, General.’

  A word to Colonel Hood should secure him the information he needed on the ex-SS Foreign Legion units.

  ‘Later.’

  For now, Ike could see the same Thomas Bell Hood hovering with Captain Foster, both looking fit to burst.

  Lighting up and taking a deep draught of his coffee, he beckoned both forward, unaware that a forty year old mother of three was about to set before him the information needed to start stopping the Russians.

  “Good morning Anne-Marie, Thomas. This will have to be brief as I have….�
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  “Sir, Captain Foster has something very interesting and you are going to want to hear it.”

  Colonel Thomas Bell Hood was a southern gentleman and not prone to interrupting his Commander in Chief.

  Unusually irritated but curious, the under-pressure Eisenhower held his tongue and very deliberately extracted a cigarette before inviting the information.

  “Sir, my apologies. It is just that this is gold dust, Sir.”

  “OK Thomas. Things are a little fraught around here so let’s move on. What have you got for me?”

  “Well Sir, you directed me last week that I should look at Soviet capabilities, particularly their trained manpower.”

  “Indeed I did, Colonel, and I assume you have found something of note?”

  Hood could have swung into the presentation but he wasn’t that sort of man. Foster had sniffed it out first, so he deferred to her so she would get the credit.

  “Sir, Colonel Hood tasked a number of us with looking at availability, behaviour and losses of the various speciality branches of the Red Army.”

  She laid out five reports before her General.

  Indicating the first report she continued.

  “This is low-level intelligence report originating from 12th Group. It gave me my first real indication, Sir.”

  Inclining her head so she could quote from it she placed her finger under the relevant section.

  “Soviet bridging units seem slower to respond than expected, sometimes appearing after some hours or not appearing at all. This causes inevitable delay for the Soviet advance.”

  “OK Anne-Marie. I got that. And?”

  “This is an extract I obtained from the interrogation report of the German General Karl Burdach, commander of the elite 11th Infanterie Division in Russia.”

  Again she found the passage and read it aloud.

  “Soviet engineers were numerous, as well as being extremely effective and competent. Temporary bridges to get infantry across water obstacles could spring up in a matter of minutes and more substantial ones in a few hours. They should take much credit for the rapid Soviet advances, for as quick as we could knock them down, it seemed they were putting them up just as quickly and continuing the advance.”